Accordingly they entered the Waldorf and the commodore hustled them up and down and around, without, however, their encountering a single “real” person. There were only people present—loads of them, not from somewhere but from everywhere. They did the circuit several times, still without catching sight of a real person. “Whew! This _is_ a lonesome place!” breathed the commodore at last. “Let’s depart!” disgustedly from Clarence. “Apologize for steering you into these barren wastes!” “What’s your hurry?” said Bob, with a little more bravado. Then suddenly he forgot about those other three. His entranced gaze became focused on one. He saw only her. “Ha!” The commodore’s quick glance, following Bob’s, caught sight, too, of that wonderful face in the distance—the stunning, glowing young figure—that regal dream of just-budded girlhood—that superb vision in a lovely afternoon gown! She was followed by one or two others. One could only imagine her leading. There would, of course, always be several at her either side and quite a number dangling behind. Her lips were like the red rosebuds that swung negligently from her hand as she floated through the crowd. Her eyes suggested veiled dreams amid the confusion and hubbub of a topsyturvy world. She was like something rhythmical precipitated amid chaos. A far-away impression of a smile played around the corners of her proud lips. The commodore precipitated himself in her direction. Bob put out a hand as if to grasp him by the coat tails, but the other was already beyond reach and Bob’s hand fell to his side. He stood passive. That was his part. Only he wasn’t passive inwardly. His heart was beating wildly. He could imagine himself with her and them—those others in her train—and the conversation that would ensue, for he had no doubt of the commodore’s intentions. Dan was an adept at rounding up people. Bob could see himself at a table participating in the conversation—prepared conversation, some of it! He could imagine the commodore leading little rivulets of talk into certain channels for his benefit. Dan would see to it that they would ask him (Bob) questions, embarrassing ones. That “advice” dad had given him weighed on Bob like a nightmare. Suppose—ghastly thought!—truth compelled him ever to speak of that? And to her! A shiver ran down Bob’s backbone. Nearer she drew—nearer—while Bob gazed as if fascinated, full of rapturous, paradoxical dread. Now the commodore was almost upon her when— Ah, what was that? An open elevator?—people going in?—She, too,—those with her—Yes—click! a closed door! The radiant vision had vanished, was going upward; Bob breathed again. Think of being even paradoxically glad at witnessing _her_ disappear! Bob ceased now to think; stood as in a trance. “Why _do_ people go to concerts?” said the commodore in aggrieved tones. “Some queen, that!” “And got the rocks—or stocks!” from Dickie. “Owns about three of those railroads that are going a-begging nowadays.”